“It’s not common, but it is correct.”
Gillian held his gaze, waiting for him to say more, but he just stared down at her with those black eyes, arms crossed over his wide chest, waiting.
Gillian licked her lips and looked down at the contract. Her belly churned. She toyed with the quill but did not sign. “This is unnecessary, my lord. I will not elope as my sister did, you have my word.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll not marry you unless you sign it.”
Gillian contemplated ripping his contract in half and just walking away. But she didn’t, of course. She never did things like that, things Rose or Isobel would do. Fury clenched her belly tight as she stared blindly at the words. The contract specified a non consummation clause, as well as the distribution of her dowry if she ever tried to terminate the union (she would be penniless). But the worst was the stipulation that if she was ever unfaithful, she faced imprisonment, the forfeiture of ever seeing any children they produced, and the possibility of other punishments, depending on the circumstances.She would never do such a thing, so she was not worried about the sentence ever being carried out. But it was galling to have her integrity questioned because of something her sister or his late wife had done. She shouldn’t submit to such terms. Rose wouldn’t. Gillian dipped the quill in ink a few times but still did not sign.
“Is it . . . legal?” she asked, annoyed at the uncertainty in her voice.
“It will be when you sign it.”
Her lips thinned. “I’m under duress.”
He let out a short, sarcastic laugh. “I’m not forcing you to wed me. If it’s what you wish, those are my terms.” He nodded to the contract.
Gillian exhaled loudly through her nose and glared at him. “It is bad luck to start the marriage on so little trust.”
“Bad luck is the only luck I have with women, Mistress MacDonell. Now sign the damn contract or don’t. Either way, let’s be through with this. I have other business to attend.”
“You don’t have to swear at me,” she muttered through clenched teeth. So she was inconveniencing him now. For a red, fuzzy moment she couldn’t remember why it was she’d wanted to marry him. Then it flooded back to her, diffusing some of her anger. Frenchman. Countess. Her quill moved to the bottom of the parchment and hovered there.
“Youcanwrite?” he asked.
Gillian looked up at him, her face taut with suppressed fury. “I can write, my lord. My mother taught me when I was—”
“Fine. Then sign.”
Gillian’s mouth snapped shut. She took a deep breath and started to sign the blasted betrothal contract. But the tip of the quill barely touched the parchment before she withdrew it again, leaving a tiny black dot behind. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“You’ll not have bad luck this time, my lord. I vow it.”
His gaze moved slowly from the parchment to her face, his brow twitching slightly. “Let us hope not.” When she only stared back at him, trying very hard to look trustworthy, he gestured impatiently at the contract.
Gillian twirled the quill, pressing onward. She had nothing to lose now, since she did not intend to sign the contract. “But wouldn’t it be better to know your wife remained faithful out of love and loyalty to you, rather than fear of dire punishment?”
“That doesn’t concern me. What concerns me is your behavior.”
Gillian shook her head and set the quill down, defeated. He really was a devil earl. Perhaps he had planned this all along so he could tell Alan that at least he’d tried—she was the one who’d refused to sign the contract.
“I won’t sign this. It’s not fair.”
“Life is not fair, Mistress MacDonell.”
“What if you are the unfaithful one? Shouldn’t you be subject to the same penalties? Once you tire of me, you could claim I did all sorts of things and lock me away. Who would believe me? It’s only fair I have a modicum of protection.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared through her, eyes narrowed. There was no sense in reasoning with him. He didn’t care.
She sighed and stood. “Forgive me for wasting more of your time.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice and didn’t try.
She was almost to the door when he called out, “Wait.” Something different colored his voice, something relenting and perhaps even regretful. She felt it from her neck to her heels, a tingling of hope.
He sat at the table again, taking another parchment from the small stack on the table. “Burn this.” He handed her the contract she’d just refused to sign and began writing again. His brow was smooth, but it was clear he was in deep concentration.
Gillian started a fire in the fireplace and used the horrid contract as kindling. Her hands shook, amazed she’d been so bold—and that it had somehow worked! The new contract took longer to write than the first, and he paused often, staring meditatively at the parchment before writing furiously again.
After nearly an hour of silence except for the scratching of the quill, he sat back, squaring his shoulders and tilting his neck, stretching. He set down the quill with a hint of satisfaction.
